My House Elf Likes You
by dragonfly360
Summary: Draco says something very very confusing to Harry, and strange - slightly perverted - things ensue. Drarry. Post books. AU. Probable permanent HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, hello. How are you all this fine day? Well, you see, I'm trying very very hard to finish my first HP fanfic. It's an AU of Hogwarts, with an OC who has read the books and gets into Slytherin (because, being all savvy, she doesn't want to say something and affect the way things go. So she chooses Slytherin to be ebil), and decides she wants to bridge rifts between the relations of Houses and all that. She ends up making Draco friends with the famous trio. So, there's Drarry and no OC pairing. Cool, huh? I haven't actually posted it yet, so you just got an exclusive sneak preview! :) (Just make sure you check it out ;D). Anyway, enough about that project. Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, just my overactive imagination and this plot (I do think I've already used this disclaimer somewhere... oh well).

*

Everyone always expected Harry Potter to become an Auror, or a Seeker in a famous Quidditch team. He has the exceptional skills needed for both, naturally (some would sneer) and no one would ever say he's not good enough.

Fudge once thought, in his paranoia days, that after Dumbledore overthrew him, he might name Harry as Minister for Magic, seeing as Dumbledore had always said he wanted to stay at Hogwarts. Strangely, in a twisted way, this was the closest thing to lucidity that Fudge came close to for months. But no, Harry didn't -doesn't- want a job like Minister for Magic, so he's not that either.

The other option was unemployment. He's got a small fortune, they think, why would he want to work at all? He can finally relax and have a nice quiet life. Goodness knows he been through enough.

Yes, having a nice quiet life was my plan. Most twenty-four-year-olds would want the same, would love to have enough money to life comfortably and not work. But, you see, that money won't last forever, and since I plan to have a family someday soon (ah, paranoia about _his _die-hard supporters. Do things quickly before someone kills me. What can I say, Moody leaf), it will disappear even quicker. I would look like a total idiot if I suddenly started working in my thirties or forties, it would be embarrassingly obvious that it's because I've suddenly run out of Galleons.

So I decided I wanted to start working straightaway.

I did become an Auror, even though it was hard because I had to do Seventh Year when I was eighteen (many others did the same, not having received proper education while they were there. They barely even kept track of who was there, no one even knew that we weren't!). Go on, smile and say you _knew _it like everyone else does. Remind me of Rita Skeeter, because obviously I absolutely love her. If only I could be calm and mature enough, like Dumbledore was, to find being called an obselete dingbat amusing. Merlin knows all I feel like when I see that woman is a sudden urge to rip out that disgusting curled hair and throw her off a cliff. Or perhaps prove that she's an unregistered Animagus... What's the punishment for that? And surely no one would be that proud of being a beetle? Actually, she'd probably flaunt it, as she does everything else, if she wouldn't get done in for it. God I really hate her. I should stop thinking of her now, or I might suddenly say something very harsh to the next person who speaks to me.

Anyway, back to my job (yes, I am twenty-four and yes, I work. Jeez, can't do anything productive without someone pointing at me like I'm the only hardworking young person in the world. Just look at Hermione! And, well, Ron... sort of). I just don't like how this Department works, and I want to change it. Weird reason to become an Auror, but it works for me. In fact, I don't like how the entirety of the Ministry functions, but Rome wasn't built in a day.

I'll just start with some little rules that mean I don't have to wade through legal practice, paperwork and attorneys every single time I have someone who I know for a _fact_ supported Voldemort. Having been at a few fun Death Eater parties, I can usually act as witness. (It's still nerve-racking, being in court, even when I'm not the person in that chair.) And seeing as it's yours truly, I usually win. In fact, my rate of success in cases against Death Eaters is so high I've pretty much got everyone. Hmm, thinking about it now... After Fudge finally saw the light, saw that yes, I was transported to that cemetery, and that Voldemort did return, I should have given names and gotten those bastards a one-way ticket into Azkaban. Only after they removed the Dementors and placed some more measures to keep them in, obviously. But nothing like that ever happened, not until I became the youngest Auror ever (better than my Seeker record) and decided it was time for some changes. After a few embarrassing moments of naivety, where I expected things to go: witness (me) plus bad guy (Death Eater) plus caught (by me) equals Azkaban. Except they had an attorney and somehow got out of it. That is what _really _does my head in, that because of _money_ and someone in fancy robes, they can get out of anything. So now I'm trying to change that. And seeing as I can do it quicker than anyone else... Some -ahem, dearest Rita- say that I'm far too ambitious, but they are quickly realising that they are barking up the very wrong, very dead-end tree with that angle, because I've gotten my way so far, haven't I? Especially with having contacts high up. But I don't talk to Slughorn, that really pisses him off. Blemishes his record, not having me as a personal friend. Instead I have Arthur Weasley.

I finally managed to convince him to try and get a promotion, which he got almost instantly. And it's not like the Minister was our friend, no, Scrimgeour is still here, sadly. Although some like Lucius Malfoy might have had contacts because he had power, people knew Arthur because he was good at what he did, and respected him because he could have gone higher if he wanted to. Well, when Charlie proposed to Lucy, it was the last final push. Percy's attitude and -well, plain disgusting- behavior and Bill marrying Fluer had made him want for that sort of change for a few years.

He's pretty important now, and in a way I always knew it would, it suits him. It really does, because things don't get to his head. He's a person you can rely on to stay calm, who is not afraid of being in danger, and doesn't mind dying for (prepare yourselves for the cliché) something he believes in or that he cares about. But most essentially, he hasn't let anything or anyone kill who he is. You can always count on him to be the same Muggle obsessed person at the end of the day that collects plugs. He's a nice constant in a world that's always changing.

"Report on Avery."

Kingsley says, just as a folder appears on my desk, making a _slap _sound as it lands. I glare at it balefully, my desk was so wonderfully tidy and clear and utterly folderless. I sigh and reach forward, bringing it towards me to flick through it and hope that this doesn't mean too much paperwork.

"You got anything planned?"

He's good at reading people, and he's spotted the face I'm making at the moment, seeing as he is in the cubicle next to me and both our doors are open(1).

"I did."

I say dully, and he chuckles. I glance at him and shake my head to show that I was joking and was going to be spending the night in. Then I continue to try to incinerate the folder with my eyes. If only old Voldemort had been able to do that... If only...

"Hey, no daydreaming. Get that done quickly so you can leave."

I twitch my head a little as I come to my senses, and rub my eyes. I nod but stay silent to conserve energy.

"Merlin, you had a late night," I stare back at Kingsley as he peers at me closely. "How many hours did you sleep?"

"Four."

I resist a yawn as I remember how tired I am. Kingsley shakes his head at me, but I hold up a hand to stop the 'you know that this is always happening, get to bed earlier' tangent. He shrugs and sends me a look before taking his place at his desk. After a while I take out my wand to make coffee. He raises his mug at me when I send one over to him, and I smile.

Thankfully it's only us at the moment. Aurors have to split their time between fieldwork and the office paperwork (as well as special assigments). If they're out there after someone for a long time, someone else gets their paperwork sent to them, as in this case. Most of the Aurors have either left or are still at it. We have very flexible working hours, often we have to get up in the middle of the night for an urgent case, a sighting usually. No one moans about the fact that we are meant to work only six hours a day, because we have a hard job and in cases it is from midnight to six in the morning in the field, then hours in the office after that with annoying bits of paper, after a normal day yesterday. And we're ensuring the safety of their asses.

Yeah, I had a late night, it's nine in the evening now and I've been up since six. Didn't take me long to catch the guy, and I've been stuck here for an age. At least we get long lunch breaks and are left to do pretty much what we want as long as we hand in reports on time in the office and don't knock over a building or get too many Muggles involved in the field.

*

"There," I sigh half an hour later, flipping the folder shut and making a neat pile of my stuff on one side of my desk before heaving myself out of my chair. I leave my cubicle and take the folder to one side of the office. I check which tray to put it in. We have identical 'in tray's and 'out tray's, and when they get collected and then brought back, they're more often than not changed around. And because it's basically trays on top of each other, and we each get our own section (how much everyone does per day is carefully monitored and recorded), they can sometimes ignore the names for every section. We've had times where the same report has been done and redone five times before someone made sure it went in the right tray. Dumping the report on the out tray pile (the other only has three folders and none of them in my section, ha ha) I wave my wand and a label appears on my 'out' section, one I know will be gone by tomorrow. Pursing my lips, I think and then Vanish the label, before silently carving the words onto the wood of the tray instead. I do the same to the rest of the sections on both trays.

"You leaving?"

"Yeah, no more for me to do here," I quickly check the in tray folders. "Nothing else apart from that for you either."

"So you're going to leave now, quickly, before something arrives."

By his voice I can tell he's grinning. It's infectious and I can't help glancing back to see his face peering around his doorway and sending one back.

"Yep."

I grab my cloak and leave with a parting goodbye.

Entering the elevator, I greet people I know and ignore the ones I don't. Nor do I wave to people I hate (cough - Percy you twat - cough), and as usual they ignore me too. But as most leave, one person slides in. He raises an eyebrow at my presence, and I stiffen. He, who had swept his gaze up and down my body, notices and his eyes glitter suspiciously, before he moves to the back next to me.

"So, Potter, finished work already?"

"Yes."

I say. Grunt. Whatever.

I can't really classify Draco Malfoy into the 'people I hate' group, every time I see him I remember him crying in the bathroom, or looking uncertain and lowering his wand... The 'hate' group isn't that big anyway, mainly Scrimgeour, Bellatrix, _Lucius_ Malfoy, Skeeter, Percy and... err, Voldemort and his other Death Eaters obviously. Draco is just... someone I _used _to hate, if anything. I haven't felt any animosity towards him for years, and though we don't see each other often, and haven't spoken in a long time, I think I'm the same to him. His father... well, he's gone, and he was the main reason Draco fit the Slytherin persona perfectly. Narcissa was different, she wasn't like Bellatrix, who valued that nutter Voldemort more than her own blood. Narcissa risked her life and worse to say that I was dead, to give me a chance (and to give Draco a chance). We defeated Voldemort because of her (and when we were in the Manor, Draco could have said it was us from the get-go, so he's saved my life too), and I will never forget it.

"Got all the Death Eaters, I suppose?"

As the only other person leaves us alone, I decide spontaneously to say something different to "pretty much".

"You tell me."

I turn to look at him seriously. He remains impassive, but his gaze slides over to me. Then, he shakes his head.

"No Potter, I am definitely not your enemy."

"Nice to know."

We arrive at the last stop, the mainly deserted Atrium. I step out and so does Draco. We walk in silence through the smaller hall into the larger one, heading towards the fireplaces on our left. I can't wait to just get home and collapse into bed. Hang on, what... Oh Merlin! I completely forgot! I can't go back to the flat!

I stop walking completely, and Draco speaks.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm wondering where to go."

I say honestly. Showing up in Privet Drive would be good, I could blast apart their fireplace again. But then again Dudley probably wouldn't be there and I don't have any Ton-Tongue Toffees. Urgh, you idiot Harry! How could you forget!

Damnit, I should have forseen some problems like this. See, my actual house is currently being built. I live with Hermione and Ron, we're sharing a flat. But, Ron hinted he might want a night alone with his girlfriend of a few weeks (it took him that long to work up the courage, seven years) tonight. I could always go to Godric's Hollow, the house was rebuilt last year, but... I'm so tired and I don't sleep easy there. There's always a hotel, but that means going to Gringotts first, and the goblins are always grumpy if you show up this late...

"What? Don't you have a house?"

Draco asks incredulously. I glance at him.

Stupid manor boy.

"Two, but one is being built and the other is in Godric's Hollow."

I really don't like that look in his eyes. It is far too close to understanding and sympathetic.

"So where do you live?"

"With Hermione and Ron, in a flat."

"Ah, and the Weasel wanted to be alone with his Weaselette."

I send him an icy look at the names (even though the normality in this surprisingly civil conversation is a relief) but nod affirmatively.

"I would invite you to the Manor but you would probably say no."

My eyes widen and I stare as he steps forward. As his weight activates the green fire, he glances over his shoulder before saying "Malfoy Manor" and disappearing.

...What in the name of Merlin is _that _supposed to mean!? And what is it supposed to _be_? A statement of fact? An insinuation? An accusation?

Now I have a headache (great, thanks Malfoy). And I still don't know where to go.

...Oh, ohhhh, surely he doesn't mean for me to follow him!

No, no, I would rather go to Godric's Hollow and stay the night in the dead house than throw myself into _that _snake pit.

I step forward and say "Godric's Hollow!" After a few dizzying seconds I arrive at a dead-end alley with a hidden fireplace just off the main square. I start walking quickly.

The reason this doesn't take me into my house is because this stop is public use, and I didn't want to add the house itself to the Floo Network. Skeeter and the other reporters would find out and this place would be constantly staked out. The only reason I was left alone at Privet Drive was that it was a Muggle dwelling. The flat is under Hermione's name, so that's left alone. The house being built is strictly off limits to the paparazzi, and I have already placed several (okay, many, many defensive charms and err, curses) spells on the site to make sure they get the message. Skeeter, of course, thought that in Animagus form she would get through. Stupid, I made sure she stayed green for weeks.

Arriving at the house, I open the door and step through, shrugging off my cloak (which looks rather much like a long coat a Muggle might wear over a suit) and hanging it. Sighing, I head upstairs. Even though I don't stay here that often, it does have both wizard robes and Muggle clothes, and a made bed, thanks to my house-elf. Hermione wasn't pleased about that, but I managed to pacify her by saying that if Dibbles ever wants a holiday, sick leave or wages, she can have them. But if she doesn't, no point in forcing her to do something she doesn't want to or take things she does want. And only a few pure-blood maniacs or uptight bastards like Crouch treat their house-elves like Dobby was treated.

"Welcome home sir!"

I smile at Dibbles, who is wearing a clean white T-shirt and clean shorts she made herself. I don't want her to be wearing a filthy pillowcase or some other house garment. I managed to convince her to make her outfit by saying that I only gave her the material, the means to make the clothes so she could do her tasks easier, and not the clothes themselves. I don't want her to look neglected, or wearing something over-sized, that would remind me painfully of myself and my days at Privet Drive.

I wasn't quite able to convince her to stop calling me 'sir', though.

"Hello Dibby. Would you mind making me some hot chocolate?"

It's really quite sad, how close my nickname for her is to 'Dobby'.

"Of course not sir!"

Dibby's excitement at my being here is kind of cute, in a 'happy servant who doesn't hate me' way.

"Thanks." I breathe as I start walking up towards my bedroom and collapse on the bed. Picking up the remote control, I turn on the TV on a table at the end of my bed on.

"Here you are sir."

"Thanks Dibby. Record time too."

I take a sip and find out that she took the consideration to cool it down to perfect drinking temperature.

"Sir…?"

"Yes?"

"Is sir tired?"

I turn and look at her. She looks nervous about asking her 'master' a question. She's wringing the bottom of her T-shirt with her hands and is looking down.

"Very."

She's looking up now, but her huge hazel eyes are blinking a little too often for her to seem completely at ease.

"I is leaving you now then, sir."

"Goodnight Dibby."

"A-ah, would sir like to have his bed warmed?"

"No thanks," I yawn.

"Goodnight sir."

*

(1): In _Order of the Phoenix_, when Harry has to go to the Ministry for his hearing, they stop at Auror HQ. It says that it's divided into cubicles. I don't imagine this as our sort of offices, where you can see over the top if you stand up. More like separate (small) offices with proper walls that reach the ceiling. I mean that Kingsley's cubicle and Harry's are on opposite sides of a corridor, so that in both doors are open if they look through they can easily see each other. And, as I imagine Harry's desk to be facing the door, he only has to look up (and he will see Kingsley's profile).

Until next chapter!!


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

*

"So, where'd you stay? A hotel?"

"The Hollow."

Rons face is half totally horrified and half dispairing. He knows about the whole 'can't sleep there' thing. I mean, I don't mind dropping off for a short visit, or staying there during the day. But there's something about staying for the night, staying for that long and sleeping there. The dark also has something to with it. As does... I don't know. Well, I do. It's treating it like my house that... - makes me uncomfortable - I suppose I'm afraid. Ron says it's normal, it's where _it _happened.

But I don't regret rebuilding it. And people are still allowed to write on my front gate.

"Mate, you should've told me to bugger off!"

"I only remembered when I was finishing work."

"Honestly, Harry."

Hermione rolls her eyes at me, but says nothing more. She's sitting on the sofa, leaning against the arm and working on something. Her legs are over Ron's, something which made Ron give me a smug triumphant look when she sat down. I snorted into my coffee, making Hermione sigh and shake her head, causing me and Ron to laugh.

She's Head of International Office of Law. _That _was a real punch in the face for those with pure-blood mania, I can tell you. She ended up taking S.P.E.W further. The first thing she did was to sort them into the 'Near-Human Intelligence' category, which makes us unable to treat them like dirt. She gave up a while ago at giving them pensions or wages, seeing as they themselves complained. But she's still trying to get them sick-leave and the right to leave the family they're bound to if they so wish. This campaign, among others, was mainly about raising awareness. I helped, never having liked what happened to Dobby. Rather famously (eye roll), I said that the way we treat house-elves is following medieval traditions. This is the twenty-first century, and slavery is against the law, so why shouldn't this be? Sure, they like things we would call chores, but no one likes being kicked around (especially in the literal manner). But that's only one of her projects, some side-work if you like. She's busy as it is.

"So how's Dibbles?"

Hermione asks in an unnerving way, given what I was just thinking.

"She's fine, still calling me sir."

"Hmm."

She says, frowning at something and using her wand to highlight a particular line of her four-foot parchment.

That's when I remember Draco Malfoy, and I wonder whether to mention it to the two. I suppose I should, if only to see their reactions.

"I saw Draco Malfoy yesterday."

"What? When?" Ron asks, eyes bulging.

"When I was leaving the Ministry. We spoke."

"What did you speak about?"

Hermione has a frown on her face again, and she's looking at me. Despite myself, I feel a bit annoyed and defensive on my once-rival's behalf. He wasn't giving me death threats or anything.

"He asked me if I'd finished work, I said yes. He asked me if I've caught all the Death Eaters, I said 'you tell me' and he said that he's definitely not my enemy and I said--"

"Wait, wait... What!?"

I take a deep breath, realising that I will have to repeat each line word for word. I hold up both hands palm up, and move them for each of us respectively to make it clearer who's saying what.

"So, Potter, finished work already? Yes. Got all the Death Eaters, I suppose? You tell me. No Potter, I am definitely not your enemy. Nice to know."

I stop there, I don't want to mention the last part, and ending at the 'I'm wondering where to go' sounds suspicious. And I don't want to actually lie to my two best friends and make something up. And it wouldn't make sense anyway without the context.

"Wierd. So weird."

Ron leans back from his position a few inches off the seat.

"Yes, very strange."

Hermione says, her face thoughtful. I shrug, ignoring the probing look. Merlin, she knows me too well. Ron is... - well, the nicest way to put it is often unaware of some things. He doesn't get subtle, he doesn't deduce much, and it would be scary if he ever paid attention properly. I was the same, but, like Moody said, an Auror needs 'constant vigilance!' Ron is better though, because while Hermione picks things up like a human lie detector, she's not good at hiding things herself and now Ron has spotted her face and is looking at me suspiciously.

"What?"

"You're not telling us something."

"I don't have to tell you everything," I say calmly but in indignation, never really having liked Hermione's Mother Hen side.

"So you are hiding something!"

Hermione says smugly, leaning back. Ron rolls his eyes at me, and goes off, presumably to get something to eat, being the sort of unbothered person who will wait for me to decide when to tell. If ever.

"Tell me, quickly!"

Hermione says, knowing that most things to do with Malfoy make Ron blow his top. I sigh, and start speaking lowly.

"When I remembered that I couldn't come back here I stopped in the middle of the Atrium like an idiot, and of course he asked what I'm doing and I explained."

"And?"

"And he said, and I quote, 'I would invite you to the Manor but you would probably say no' and looked back at me before using the Floo."

Hermione, who looked excited and full of curiosity, now has eyes the size of plates and her mouth is so open she's going to start drooling any second now.

"He wanted you to follow him!" She squeals excitedly, hands going up to her mouth. Then they drop again and she looks at me strangely. "You didn't, did you?"

"No," I shift uncomfortably.

"Then why do you look like you've got ants in your pants?"

I stare at her like she's mental.

"Merlin Hermione, am I supposed to feel all right about _Draco Malfoy_ trying to take me home?" The thought of him actually trying to...

Things were simple when he was only trying to curse me.

"I suppose not," she leans back too, and crosses her legs and arms, thoughtful. "This is an interesting turn of events. I wonder..." She trails off suggestitively, and not even a comical waggling of the eyebrows could have lifted my ominous feeling.

"What?"

I ask irritably, taking a sip of coffee and not waiting to hear her thoughts. Probably because I too have been wondering, how long has Draco been possibly interested in me? I get up and go into the kitchen. Hermione follows, and I can't help but make a face at Ron, who is leaning against the counter and having some tea.

"Come on Hermione, give the man some peace."

He says, slightly pleadingly.

She sighs.

"I was only going to tell him that I knew about it a long time ago."

With that she turns and leaves, but not after giving me a look full of disturbing meaning.

"I don't want to know," Ron holds up a hand as I open my mouth. "Really, I don't. Especially seeing as I suspect Malfoy is involved in this 'it'." Then he pauses and looks slightly queasy as he asks me "You're not secret lovers, are you?"

My response is a hacking cough accompanied by a wild-eyed look.

He seems satisfied.

*

Mondays. I hate them.

"No! It's just _wrong_! This'll leave me permanently scarred! Scarred for life! I will be left traumatized and needing a straightjacket once this is over!"

"Oh, stop being ridiculous. It won't be that bad."

I think 'yes it will', but I don't say it out loud and settle for a quick scathing look shot her way instead. And then she glances at my face and then agrees with my thoughts anyway.

"Okay, it will. But you have to do it anyway."

"How reassuring," I say sarcastically, left eyelid twitching as I resist rolling my eyes. "Nice to know that I'm not being _forced _to do this."

Ron sniggers into his coffee.

The three of us are standing in the middle of the kitchen in our flat, and Hermione is really trying to get me to buy into this. Ron, supportive and sympathetic (empathetic more like) as he is, is sending me understanding looks over his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Look Harry, think about it like this. All you're doing is finding out what's really going on, so you can decide what to do about it." Hermione says placatingly, grimacing when I start frothing at the mouth.

"And what if I really _don't want to know_! And what if I've decided to just stay miles away?"

"Harry," she coos, "Avoiding the problem will never solve it."

"I don't care! I don't want to solve it! I want to avoid it for the rest of my life and never have to address this disturbing issue!"

Hermione frowns and then juts out her bottom lip, making her eyes wide. I wince and look away with a sort of angry sounding sigh.

"Alright," I say grudgingly (and knowing that I will regret this either because it will go catastrophically bad or will make Hermione barfingly smug), and shudder.

Yay! I can see her thinking. I feel like growling at her. And then a wonderful thought occurs to me, and I grin.

"I don't have to do it. I have thought of another way... Two ways, actually."

Hermione raises an eyebrow, vaguely interested.

"One is someone else taking some Polyjuice Potion," Here I turn my head and look so deliberately at Hermione that Ron does his evil laugh impression copied from his favourite Tenacious D video. "And the other involves KOing Malfoy and then using Veritaserum once he's tied to a chair."

"Kinky," she says calmly, which makes Ron and I nearly kill ourselves.

_Never again _do we want to here that word realted to that person. Ever.

Then she frowns, pretending to be upset. "Neither of those are very nice!" Ron and I look at her blankly.

"And I'm supposed to care? This is Malfoy."

"Jesus Hermione, why don't you start a fan club!" Ron says, rolling his eyes and dumping his empty mug in the kitchen sink.

"Shut up!" She snaps, crossing her arms. "I am merely thinking about what would happen after we used Veritaserum, and who would convincingly sound like Harry enough to fool him?"

"We'd decide what to do," I suggest, and Hermione's eyes narrow. "And I believe there is a reversible spell to switch two people's voice around. I don't mind talking like a girl for an hour."

"No Harry, I'm not doing this for you. This is your issue," Hermione sniffs before leaving the kitchen with her tea and settling down on one of the flat's sofas.

"I really hate it when she does that."

I say quietly to Ron, who quietly agrees with me.

"This is your issue, I'm not going to do it for you, I'm just going to make _you _solve it!" I laugh at Ron's amazingly accurate impression and cough when Hermione sends me a killer look as she glances up fom her parchment. "But it's not for personal gain or anything, I'm not curious. I'm doing this for you, Harry, don't be so ungrateful!" Ron continues, and I stumble into a hacking cough from taking a sip of water.

"Mate, be careful," Ron grins, stowing away his wand once he's cleared my airway.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I glance up at the clock, and groan. Hermione ignores me as she washes out her mug and Ron's (I resist rolling my eyes as she ignores mine. Her transparent plan is obviously to leave it there so she can moan at me about it later) and summons her bag.

"It's showtime," Ron says, grinning as I follow him and the still silent Hermione out of the kitchen.

"_Great_," I say, sarcasm dripping off every letter. Hermione slowly turns her head to look at me sideways in a very scary fashion before slowly turning her head back and flouncing towards the fireplace. I send a comical epression towards Ron and quickly mime a decapitation. He grins and chuckles lowly.

"Hey, at least you've got an entire day of work, and he might not even be there." Ron can't help stressing 'he' with a little bit of disgust.

"We can hope." I murmur as he grabs his handful of powder. I follow him through the fireplace into the Ministry of Magic. As I arrive I join the wave of people going in the same direction and pass through the Atrium with the ease of familiarity.

I had been deliberately not looking around, not even for Ron or Hermione (though I spotted some distinctive bushy hair a ways ahead of me to my left). If I could actually not see him, then all is well. Of course, I'm meant to start working at nine, but it's eight. As Hermione said, plenty of time for other things before starting work. So far, I might arrive early at work for some reason and sit around for an hour. Nothing wrong with that, and it is possible, as there are no people I want to avoid hanging around.

Oh _fuck_.

I see the one person I could happily never talk to again appear in a fireplace to my right. He steps out and brushes away some green flames that had lingered on his elbow. He sighs as he notices some ash and quickly draws his wand to vanish them. During these few seconds I had been acting like a deer in headlights, and had briefly contemplated jumping behind a rather large witch with the biggest hat I had ever seen. I sigh in the back of my mind as I notice him stowing away his wand. No he's going to look up and see me. And that could mean that he could talk to me again, but I would rather start this conversation (if only for some semblance of control). So, no choice but to walk over.

"Malfoy, I need to talk to you."

He looks up and his eyes widen slightly before he regains his composure and raises an eyebrow.

"Alright," he shrugs, stows away his wand and follows me into a small deserted room off the Atrium. I quickly turn to face him and take a breath.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Draco's slender form is leaning against a wall, and he now looks throughly bored.

Yeah, right. You're just acting like that because I turned down your offer, I sneer inwardly.

... Well, that was Malfoy-ish. Must stop that.

"I want to talk to you about Friday."

"What about it?"

He asks calmly, picking a microscopic piece of lint from his sleeve.

I look at him incredulously. Surely he's uncomfortable? But apparently not, there isn't even a slight hint of a blush. Nothing to suggest he's uncomfortable or embarrassed (narutally I'm shifting from foot to foot and biting my lip, etc., etc.). Of course, I know what Malfoy's like, but surely no one could talk about this so calmly?

"I wanted to ask you what you actually meant."

"Exactly what I said. Just because you're deaf," He drawls.

"Im not deaf," I reply, only slightly stung. I suppose I'm used to his insults.

"Or maybe retarded," He continues, looking mock thoughtful.

"Shut it, Malfoy." I hiss, automatically stepping forward and only just restraining myself from gripping my wand. Malfoy's eyes glint and he unpeels himself from the wall to step towards me.

"But I thought you wanted me to answer your questions," He takes another step forward.

"I do, so answer them!"

"Why would I do that? You already _know _what I meant Potter, you're just here for me to make a fool of myself again."

And that's when I see the tiniest flash of a diffrent kind of anger. The wounded kind. I don't say anything and he stops walking towards me, eyeing me from his grand distance of two feet. I open my mouth to apologise, and then close it again.

"What do you want, Potter?"

This is going in circles.

But I suppose what I want is just for him to acknowledge his mistake, and I guess that isn't easy. But it's Malfoy and I don't care. This is all his fault anyway.

"I want to know what you were asking." I say calmly, and he sighs in frustration.

"Nothing, Potter, I wasn't asking you for anything."

"What?" I ask in surprise; I hadn't expected him to outright deny it.

"You really are stupid, aren't you?"

He asks eventually, finally looking at me properly. I grit my teeth and open my mouth for a retort when Draco suddenly takes a large step forward and crushes his mouth to mine. I'm so surprised, I don't move. He doesn't care when I don't respond, and he runs a hand though my hair. Then he pulls back, eyes closed, and sighs. Then he opens them and looks at me for a second.

"_That _is what I was offering." He says it in such a calm voice. It clashes badly with how greedy and desperate his kiss was. He watches me for a second and curls his lip at my vegtable-like state. He shrugs and turns back and walks swiftly into the crowd.

Well... well..., that...., I stutter mentally. Then I approach an apoplectic fit and my eyes nearly burst out of their sockets as I grab my head when what just happened properly registers.

_I just got - snogged! - by Draco Malfoy._

*

"Harry? Harry, are you okay? Harry?!"

What, woman!?

"Mate, you don't look too good," A voice that sounds like Ron's chimes in uneasily.

What, no, _really_? I wonder why.

"Harry, what's happened?" I open my eyes just as Hermione's voice takes on a fearful edge. I swallow and unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

"Mafoy stu hissun dow mathro," I mutter, nearly laughing hysterically as I realise how many letters I had missed in my haste.

"What?" Ron asks, dumbfounded.

"Harry?" Hermione asks yet again, as she sits down on the couch next to me. She puts an arm around my shoulder. I sober up at the look on Ron's face. Err. Okay, time to act _quick_.

"Hermione..." I say slowly, as if I'm trying out her name for the first time. "Something awful has happened."

"What is it?" She sends a questioning look Ron's way and I just see him mouth a name at her.

Wow, you know something funny, she actually looks surprised that something bad happened. What, did she think I'd be dancing around the room declaring gleefully that the marriage is in June?

Oh _God_. Images of Malfoy in a white dress have leaked into my mind.

Both jump when I suddenly giggle.

"Um... What happened?" Hermione asks, curious and scared as well as concerned now.

"Harry?" Ron asks, sitting down on the coffee table in front of me.

"Do you really want to know?"

Ron shrugs and Hermione nods.

"Draco Malfoy stuck his tongue down my throat."

I reply slowly, knowing that from hereon in chaos will ensue.

Sort of. Hermione stares at me and I can read her mind. It is wondering 'what was it like, is that a bad thing and what does this mean?' Oh, and 'hell yeah, I was right!'

Ron also stares. In a horrified way that I can truly appreciate. Then he starts shouting and jumping up, looking like he's ready to curse someone into oblivion. I start when he repeats my thoughts. What is going on with telepathic ablilties today? Hermione moves quickly to restrain him and a funny scene where she literally jumps on him plays out before my eyes. I giggle again. They ignore me. Ron is still shouting and shaking his head and, err, drooling... No, wait, frothing at the mouth, and Hermione looks at me for help.

"It's okay," I say listlessly. Ron ignores me and Hermione looks torn between rolling her eyes and sending me a furious look. She ends up trying to do both at the same time, which only serves in reminding me of that boggart that turned into half a slug. I sigh.

"I enjoyed it."

That was a lie. I only said it to stop Ron from killing Draco... Why would I want Ron to not kill him? Confusing... _Draco_!? Merlin, what has he done to me!?

Ron stops and slowly looks at me. Even Hermione's surprised. I nod casually.

"What?"

You do sound dumb sometimes, I have to tell you.

"I said I enjoyed it."

Yes, still a lie.

Ron overcomes his disgust and slowly sits back down. Hermione gives a sigh of relief and carefully sits herself next to Ron, in his way of the door.

"Then... Then why are you so upset?"

He asks, confused. Hermione looks at me. 'Yes, this dork is mine. Whoop-de-doo.'

"Ron," I sigh, wishing sometimes he got things as quickly as Hermione did. "Am I supposed to feel fine about liking Malfoy snogging me?"

And I supposed to feel fine about anything to do with this fucked-up thing we have going on? It's all _wrong_. We're supposed to hate each other, not get off!

He shakes his head mutely.

"I thought so."

"Harry, how did that happen?"

Hermione asks slowly.

"How do you think it happened? We we're arguing and everything was going in circles and he decides to finally answer by molesting me!"

That sounded as scarring as it was. Ron looks horrified again. Score. Hermione, however, shrugs.

"Oh. Okay."

Okay? _Okay_?

_"NO IT IS NOT OKAY! I AM SCARRED FOR LIFE!"_

"You liked it Harry," she shrugs. "Now all you have to do is find a way for him to forgive you so he can do it again. I'm sure you snogging him for a change will work." She says cheerfully. My mouth drops open, as does Ron's. Hermione smiles and leaves, and I sit back, feeling like my brain has just exploded.

Merlin, _why_?

*

I hope you enjoyed this slightly longer installment, until next time!

P.S: Dibbles is bound to the Potter family, basically Harry. Seeing as he technically lives in Godric's Hollow, she's there. However, if he were to move somewhere else she would follow him and live in that new home.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, my darlings, for the faves and the reviews. I lub you all! Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I don't Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy... Damn it all.

*

"Hermione, why do you suddenly like... the idea of me and Malfoy so much?"

Phew, remembered not to call him Draco this time.

She shrugs.

"He's good-looking, isn't he?" Oh my _God_. Is _that _how all females think? "And I've just been waiting for the right time."

"Hermione," I gasp, "There _is _no right time to tell me you have a crush on Draco Malfoy."

Ew. Please no...

She pauses and blows the top of her coffee before taking a sip.

"I suppose."

When will she understand that she was supposed to deny that to make me feel better?

"So... how long?"

"A while now."

I glare at her. "Hermione, tell me."

"Okay, okay," She rolls her eyes, clearly being under the wrong impression that I am overreacting. "Since we were about... thirteen."

Time stops.

...Okay, it doesn't, my brain does. And, contrary to what some suggest, it is usually _working_.

"Never ever say that in front of Ron," I groan, imagining the horrible... things that would come afterward. For all these years, Hermione Granger has been crushing on Draco Malfoy. I feel like bursting into laughter and doing something that will cause me great pain. Such as grabbing a mug and smashing it over my head, then hitting the kitchen counter on the way down as I faint.

At least I would be unconscious.

"I know," She laughs callously. "Imagine the tantrum if he found out I liked someone else first!"

"Hermione, that tantrum happened and it _still _happens. How could you forget Krum?"

"Oh, oh yes. Krum."

She blinks.

"Yes, Krum. Famous Quidditch player... Big guy, Bulgarian, many fan-girls... Good at what he does..."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that last part."

"What?"

"He's not really a good kisser." She wrinkles her nose. "Sadly, my first kiss was with a hoover."

After a pause, I burst into laughter as I lean against the counter.

It's lunchtime on Tuesday. Usually, I've finished lunch by this time and I'm back in the office to get ahead on some work so I can leave early, but seeing as I was so traumatised yesterday and took the day off to hurry home and wallow in horror, I had to work some extra time this morning. So now my lunch break coincides almost exactly with Hermione's, who works amazingly long hours before lunch and amazingly long hours after lunch. Thankfully, that means that Ron isn't here to witness this (he left about... two minutes ago).

"Harry, I have to ask you something."

Malfoy questions, start now. Hoping that she isn't going to ask exactly how good a kisser Malfoy is, I shrug nonchalantly.

"What are your feelings towards Malfoy?"

I turn my mug around in my hands.

"I don't hate him. (That is a better start than 'I don't know', so it has to be good enough...) But I'm not sure if I could spend long periods of time around him without cursing him. I don't know (damn! How did it slip in?). I'm not quite sure how I feel about this all now I've calmed down and gotten over the surprise."

"Harry, let's put it this way. You've felt a lot of things for Malfoy, and it doesn't exactly matter if those feelings were hate."

"I know," I sigh. "Feelings change. But I don't think I'm quite ready to accept that yet."

Hermione smiles reassuringly.

"But you will."

I arch an eyebrow.

"God, you really are into the idea, aren't you?"

She grins impishly and blushes in a way that would make Ron fall over. As we say goodbye and head our separate ways I realise that she has long considered Malfoy to be one of us, if not a friend. Of course she would love to see two of her friends get together.

I suppose I should try to see him a friend I don't talk to often. Maybe... But he's such an asshole. Ugh.

And he probably hates me now, even if he still does want to take advantage of me.

Hmm.

*

Hmm. I have been thinking about all this very confused mess. So I turned Draco... err, Malfoy down and then deliberately raised the subject only a few days later, and then he snogged me. And I liked it. And now I've been seriously thinking about Draco's - Malfoy's - kissing, which was very good. And about what everyone will say. Hermione will ask to plan the wedding, Ron will grudgingly be my best man and try not to slug anyone, Rita Skeeter will have a field day (AKA she will be pleased)... Oh my God. What about Mrs. Weasley? Surely... Ew. Oh Christ, no one's going to like this much apart from, err, well, my intelligent Muggle-born friend.

But I digress. What to do, what to do...

I could apologise. And leave it at that but in what twisted reality would I apologise to Draco (Malfoy damnit)? So... I think not.

I could apologise in a roundabout way. Like snog him back. (The expert on this matter has recommended this method.)

I could not apologise and just snog him. (Appealing.)

Or I could leave it and stay somewhat sane. (_Very _appealing.) But no snogging. Hmm, snogging... Draco...

Whoa, stop there, don't drift, back to plotting. Thinking.

But, seeing as I have known him for some time now, I have a feeling he won't give up easy. He'll go back to his cold ways and even if I do snog him senseless, he'll sneer and act unimpressed and ask if that's the best I can do. That's his defense mechanism when he's hurt. I could send him flowers but I'm sure he'd be offended.

Flowers it is.

...Roses?

Dead ones. With prickly bits.

Okay, maybe I should leave that out, because I wouldn't be able to resist that last temptation.

So, I have decided to ask him out today for a coffee tomorrow (which happens to be Saturday. Soon we'll have covered every day of the week). I have a feeling this won't go to plan or live up to expectations for anyone, as for some reason things always get out of hand. But anyway, I chose this because I suppose his acceptance into the good side of society is long past due, and I am curious to know what his job is inside the Ministry. And because I'm very hormonal and personal gain. And he is the best kisser ever and has converted me to gayism.

I can imagine it now. Flashing lights, a red carpet, Skeeter, the whole shebang.

'What's happened to you Harry? We all thought you were straight! What about Ginny?'

'Yeah, well, she sucks in bed. Darling Draco, on the other hand, likes whipped cream and handcuffs.'

Okay maybe I lied a bit there. I only just decided to ask him now, as he's only just stepped into the lift. Looking rather fashionable with his hands in his coat pockets. Hermione would like.

Oh, okay.

Clearly, he thinks I look rather fashionable too and tried to pick up tips (amazing non-use of sarcasm), as he just subtly ran his eyes all over me. Seeing as I was watching him very closely I noticed, and he probably thinks I didn't. He steps forward and stands next to me silently. He doesn't even lazily sneer or nod or anything. Which I expected.

I turn to him as, once again, we are left alone (oo-er). Why is that? I suppose night shift hasn't started and most people don't leave now.

Okay, that is why then.

"I was wondering if you would like to go out for a coffee tomorrow."

"Why?" Draco drawls.

Okay, I give up. We are now on first-name terms in my mind... Aren't I supposd to be the unwilling one? Oops.

"Because I want to talk to you."

"Well I don't want to talk to you, Potter. Your talks bore me."

When I tell this story, people will say 'ouch' here.

My back stiffens and I grit my teeth. I count to ten really quickly. It doesn't work. I content myself with fantasizing about blasting him into a million pieces and feeding him to the Giant Squid. My mind ponders (which hurts a little bit), and I have a feeling that this is too normal, we're acting like we would have a long time ago. Surely we're past all this?

"This one won't."

He looks at me sideways contemptuously. Still normal. Then, he smirks. Very normal.

"Potter, what I want to do with you doesn't really involve talking."

This, people, is what you could call a 'choke on your own saliva' moment, as that was seriously _not normal_.

_Aaah! _(That was a mental girly scream thing. Just ignore it.) He's stepping closer! What does he think he's doing? I'm - stop that! - hardly going to start making out in a lift! _Would you please stop looking at me because it is making me nervous!_

Calm Harry, play along.

"Unfortunately for you, you'll have to be patient, as I don't skip straight to that sort of thing."

Yeah sucker, your turn to be unnerved. I've had my fair share of surprises.

Draco slowly raises his silvery-blonde eyebrows, his eyes glitter and gain an edge which is causing a variety of fears. I mean, feelings. Including, err, fear?

"Really?" He purrs, stepping closer again. This time his eyes drift over me again, this time slowly and obviously, in a suggestive way that makes me shiver. My pulse quickens. I resist the urge to place a hand on his chest. I knew it would wonder in an equal fashion.

Can't be doing this here. Not the time or place.

"Yes Draco, so just agree to get a coffee tomorrow." Damnit. God, so _frustrating_.

Draco steps forward again and even though I told myself I wouldn't, I step back so I'm leaning against the wall. Damn, is this lift ever going to get there?

He places a hand next to my head and leans in. His other hand, err... Is sort of touching rather sensitive places. I am very ticklish and nearly jump when his hand slides up my side and then down again, very very low. His eyes manage to lock on to mine and he stares at me intensely, barely brushing our bodies together.

Oh God. I haven't felt like this in a long time. If we carry on like this...

"Only if good things come to boys who wait."

And then his head moves rapidly down to start attacking my neck. I feel him gently bite me, sending some pleasurable tingling sensations everywhere, and I can't help but to tilt my head sideways and up. He immediately presses himself against me at the acceptance, making me (silently) gasp. My hand grips the elevator bar hard and I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling far to much like someone who has never been touched before and is revelling in all this contact. Merlin, since when has he been able to elicit such responses?

Oh God, just... damnit!

"Depends how long you've waited."

Yeah baby! You know, sometimes shit coming out of your mouth without your brain thinking about it is a good thing.

Draco's head stills and then he lifts it to look at me hotly. Then he does a sort of exasperated groaning sigh. He leans forward to kiss me - finally! - and I rush forward to meet him.

And here comes a brilliant, rather frenzied snog that involves much tongue, things (err) becoming evident and (occasionally accidental) biting of lips.

The nice snog means a very long time. And he may be getting very good things. Or not. He's an asshole.

Then the nice snog (and the not unnoticed wandering hands) ends, as the lift dings and a voice rings out stating that we've arrived at the Atrium. Draco slowly draws back, and he looks pleased with himself and in need of a cold shower. (And he - slightly edgy laugh - certainly _feels _like he needs a freezing shower.)

"I'll meet you outside tomorrow at three."

No, actually I don't want to talk to you now either. Can't you just repeat last Friday? I'd say yes...

Hormones. Don't blame me for looking forward to it. Plus, I won't have been waiting nearly as long as him. But he wants me to suffer a bit now.

Even though I know Rita snapping us meeting up outside the Ministry and heading off together with not one hex involved will create a lot of problems, and of the kind I really don't want to have anymore, I agree. Solely because I can't think of anywhere else that have in common, aside from Hogwarts... (Just thought I'd mention that my mind wondered into me and Draco and a desk and nice hot things happening...)

I nod and he swiftly walks away, hardly looking as uncomfortable as I feel. I quickly follow him and wince as movement exaggerates my problems. Merlin, there's never a good time to have a raging hard-on you can't deal with straightaway.

After quickly evacuating the scene of enjoyable crime via Floo, I silently head towards my room through the darkened house.

It's also deserted apart from me, seeing as Hermione's working late and Ron's at Seamus's twenty-fourth birthday party. Oh. Err, yeah, I might miss that, seeing as I forgot to get a present.

Anyway, I hobble along like a cripple and am eventually rewarded with being able to breathe a sigh of relief as I toss my coat onto the messy floor and lean against my now closed door.

Never again am I going to allow myself to be pushed into the throes of passion at work, while loads of people are still near and in the building, in a damn lift.

God, was nice though.

*

Draco Malfoy is pleased, he is very pleased indeed.

Despite all that, even after being flat-out _rejected _(which he had obviously considered beforehand) and forced to practically confess, after a pathetic and disappionting one-sided snog, after that, Harry decides to ask him out for coffee. And get off with him in a lift, at work.

The world isn't so bad, he thinks smugly, smirking into his tea. He dismisses the House Elf that had been standing silently and nervously off to one side, leaving him alone in his office. The second the dimiutive creature has truely left, Draco Malfoy lets himself sigh and sink downwards onto his desk.

He is pleased, and yet also terrified. He has waited a long time for this, and things are not working out as he had hoped. So far, Harry has either been frigid, or cautious. Or both, mixed together so well that Draco can't tell the difference. He wants Harry to feel like he does. Draco hasn't been in denial or incredulous about his feelings for Harry for a long time, he doesn't find the fact that he's more than attracted to Harry strange or unsettling.

Of course, the second he admitted how infatuated he was, he had sighed and decided to do nothing. He had had no hope, none whatsoever. He definitely didn't want to approach the other teen, especially seeing as at the time, he was seeing that blood-traitor, the Weasley girl. He had felt a surge of - of something - when he had found out how that ended. The girl got married to some other man (who exactly Draco had never bothered to discover), and Harry was left by himself. Draco noticed how he concentrated on his work, on his two true friends, forgot about it and moved on.

So why couldn't Draco make a move then? Somehow show Harry his support, how much he had changed, how his feelings had changed, how very very much he wanted the things of the past forgotten and something new to start.

But he had done nothing, he had simply watched silently, cursing himself and his cowardly actions.

Years later, and only now has he done something, anything. Something that he had half expected Harry to misinterpret (but then again, what if Harry had accepted, and had followed him, and asked where to put his sleeping bag while Draco was making the move? That would have been most emabrrassing), and more than half expected him to understand and decline. And decline he did, but Draco supposed his feelings of confusion had left him immobilised. And he suspected they had also kept Harry away from Draco until he felt he could deal with things, until he was confident enough to try and take control of the situation. That time, that time Draco had kissed him.

Before tonight, he didn't know whether to regret it or not. Harry had been thrusted into a confusing mess of emotions yet again and avoided him, and yet again Draco had stuck his neck out and been decapitated, he had gotten nothing for his efforts. But he had enjoyed that simple kiss, far far more than anything else he could remember. More than realising that Voldemort was dead, that his Dark Mark had vanished, that Harry Potter had given him his freedom.

But for someone like him, who had always been told what to do, what to say, think, feel, how to act around this person or that person, someone whose life had been planned out before he was even _concieved_, let alone _born_, he didn't know what to do with this newfound freedom. Before, he had thought he had already had it. He could do whatever he wanted...

And here Harry makes a difference. He had developed feelings for Harry early in his Sixth Year. And then he knew what he could not do. He could not go anywhere near the Boy Who Lived with amorous intentions, he could not even befriend him or any other Gryffindor.

He had to continue depising him.

So he tried to act like he did. And then he realised, somewhere between wishing this had never happened to him and wishing that Harry Potter would kill Voldemort already so he didn't have to do this, that he had fallen in love with the other boy. This had not helped him, now he had to do what he knew would diminish Harry's chances of success, and of course, it was a huge personal blow. Harry was the only student to talk to the Headmaster so often, no one else could truly understand. He knew that Harry had trusted him, looked up to him, depended on him and would be changed at his death. He had even thought, once, while he was hiding in shame in the second-floor girls bathroom, that Harry loved old Dumbledore as some sort of family member, and that Dumbledore felt the same.

He had loved Harry Potter and hated him immensely during that year. The year after, he had calmed down somewhat, glad that his role was over.

Then Harry had appeared in the Manor. The Muggle-born, Granger, had been tortured. She, the insufferable know-it-all, the person who put most stock in the rules, had lied and lied, over and over again. Draco liked to think that this was better than having her killed, which would have happened had he said straight out that Harry was that one over there.

_Enough. Enough_, Draco thinks to himself, straightening up and walking briskly to the window on his left. The windowsill jutted into the room, perfect for sitting on. Draco remains standing, leaning against the bookcase right next to the window. He crosses his arms and looks out, not really noting the familiar view. _Why do you insist on doing this to yourself? _He thinks slowly, pointlessly, because he already knows. _Because I feel guilty. And there is nothing I can do about anything now. All I can hope is that it's not as bad as I think. But I know that Harry wouldn't forgive me if he knew. What would he think, if he knew, that I was the reason that Albus Dumbledore died? He would hate me, more than ever before. _Draco thinks, picking at something and frowning, corners of his mouth turned down.

And yet Draco knows that he will have to tell Harry, the sooner the better. Especially if this works out well, Harry would feel betrayed, on top of the inevitable anger and renewed grief.

_I'm cornered, I can't get out of it now. I have to tell him. And he has to hate me. There's nothing else either of us can do. While I may have always been seen as a slimy Slytherin git, even I can't go on like this, keeping a secret this important hidden._

Then he stops thinking, becuase images of Harry's reaction and how he would glare at Draco everytime he saw him and the way he would act whenever Draco tried to explain (and defend himself. But Draco is sure that if he tried to slip in some explanation beforehand, Harry would forget it the second he actually revealed what he had done, and if he tried to talk afterwards anything he said would be disregarded. He killed Dumbledore, how can he ever be trusted to speak the truth? He's evil), had washed over him.

He sighs and leans his head back, gritting his teeth and deliberately banging his head on the bookcase. It hurt, he hit a corner of a shelf, but he doesn't care. Draco closes his eyes.

_I spoke to him as another boy about to go to Hogwarts, slightly more informally than I would a stranger because we had something in common, and I made a mistake. I started blabbering about Slytherin, and all these other things that Harry couldn't have known, and then I insulted him and Hagrid. He must have been feeling confused and scared of this new magical world as it was, and then I made it worse. Then I offered him my hand anyway, insulting him and Weasley, and of course Harry turned it down. I should have realised what a Gryffindor he would be, how he would assume my utter evilness, but I didn't._

_And yet I could never have been friends with him, even back then. Me, a Death Eater's son, future Death Eater myself, who always planned to follow in Daddy's footsteps... No, it would never have happened. Voldemort would have killed him, and being close to me would have made it easier. Voldemort would have come back, and then father, who would have wanted to get back into his Lord's favour, would have given Harry to him. And Harry would have died, and it would have been my fault. _

_So it is best that he said he could decide for himself. It is best that we hated each other, played petty and sometimes malicious pranks, were rivals. I don't regret that at all._

_I regret what is about to happen, just after Harry has finally accepted me._

Draco slumps onto the cushioned windowsill, and he places his head in his hands. He lets himself feel all the emotions he usually locks away, and isn't surprised when his vision starts to get blurred and his eyes sting.

The only person Draco can shed tears for is himself.

*

"Well... _well_."

What do we have here? Hermione Granger acting very perverted in a disturbing way. And me feeling very uncomfortable. Perhaps I shouldn't tell her anything else, just hint suggestively until she goes mad?

Then, she smiles. It reminds me of Skeeter, she looks that much like a cat about to pounce and devour you. (Ron would enjoy it, I'm sure, but bloody hell it scares _me_.)

"What?" I ask irritably, hiding behind my coffee mug. I drink too much of the stuff, I know.

"I _told you _it would work." She says, smirking, before leaning back and crossing her legs.

I roll my eyes. She ignores me so as to sustain her little bubble of smug joy.

Yeah, yeah, get over it. Just because you seem to know everything about Draco... Hmm. Know everything... How could she? No, no she wouldn't. Draco... Unless he told her? Or she understands him much more than I... Maybe?

"Hermione, are you mates with Draco?"

Damn, calling him by his name is... not good. I'm trying to accuse her of fraternising with the enemy (while he still _was _the enemy) and not telling us, just to feel justifiable anger, and there I go calling him _Draco_. Might as well have drilled a plaque into my forehead.

She looks flustered. Score. Ha ha, answer _that_!

"Well, yes... I suppose."

...Goddamn you, woman. Was it too much to ask for, a denial, so I could lay out the reasons for accusing you and force you to reluctantly answer? I only wanted to feel angry at someone... Can't you see that you have to replace Draco?

Draco... Mmm...

Merlin, must stop thinking about three o'clock... only a little bit more to go...

"Since when?" I came back to my senses and decided I wanted to know more.

"Oh... Well, we bumped into each other at Hogwarts... You know, he missed Seventh Year too, so he was there..."

"Yes, I noticed," I answer crisply, pulling a sour face. Draco seemed to have developed an even greater love for pranks since being away, and he devised some pretty good ones. I think he didn't know who else to use them on but me. At least he didn't try to get me expelled. "He got me banned from visiting Hogsmeade, remember?"

And she has the gall to _laugh_!

"Oh, yes!" She says happily, in a 'thank you for reminding me of your almost-public humiliation' way. I scowl at her and hide again, wondering when she's going to realise that there less than half an hour left until my date. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me have a headache. How on Earth have things come to this? Me going on a _date _with Draco Malfoy? Is there really no one else out there?

No. They're either fan-girls, taken, friends I don't ever want to admit I have thought about in that way, or ex-girlfriends.

And I don't want to meet new people, it's so much hassle. Especially with me being one of about three famous people us wizards have! (No, seriously. There's yours truely, The Boy Who Lived To Defeat The Dark Lord, the Minister for Magic, and Krum. Those are the A-list celebrites, my friend. And the only one of us who dosn't dislike the paparazzi isn't me or the latter. But it's slim pickings for them...) So I'm always asked questions and people always have some form of pre-concieved judgement or opinion on me. I get tired of it, really. I've never really tried to seriously date anyone who isn't from my Hogwarts years.

"Oh my God, Harry! It's nearly three!" Hermione looks utterly horrified at this slip-up. Dates are the only times when I've seen the truely evil feminine side of her, and why would she ever dismiss an opportunity to torture me? "Come on, we've got to get you ready!"

But I appreciate her help, I'm not good with recognising how certain outfits are inapproprite at certain times for certain people (such sarcasm here, not even coughing could hide it). And of course, only the best will appease Mr. Malfoy. I would have thought that picking a nice green shirt and jeans, and my black coat, but no.

"Of course not, Harry! You have to pick this shirt... and that will go best with these, and this, oh, and not the same one you always wear! Something special! It's your first date!"

"Hermione," I grumble looking downwards at the items of clothing she's holding against me, "It's hardly a _date_... We're only going for coffee."

She laughs, using her wand to siphon off some dust from the shirt sleeve. Obsessive woman...

"You're in denial," She snorts.

_Shut up._

"Put this outfit on Harry, quickly!"

She smiles and leaves me alone in my bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a sharp snap. I glance down at the clothes splayed out on the bed, a green shirt, jeans, and a black coat. I roll my eyes and the world and women in particular, and start gettting ready.

*

Doing things a tiny bit OOC. I hope you didn't mind the two pages of Draco angst, and that you enjoyed, until next time!

P.S: what do you tihnk will happen dunring coffee? ;)


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